The Road Not Taken
by Ash to Dust
Summary: Post-Reichenback. Sherlock's work is nearly finished but both he and John have changed dramatically during the years apart. Their reunion begins to show the cracks in their friendship as they are both torn apart and thrown together. Can they regain what they have lost whilst combining their new lives with their old? Angst and Friendship feels galore. Rating T for some adult themes.
1. The World Is Watching

The World Is Watching - Two Door Cinema Club

Everyone is here except for me

Who is on their own I wonder?

You could be the one to set me free

I want you with me

* * *

Through frosted glass as winter crept in, Sherlock watched Lestrade struggle with the corkscrew. Already, the bottle had been passed around two others and the cork stayed stubbornly in place. Sherlock knew that Lestrade would be able to open the wine because Lestrade was even more stubborn than the cork.

Inside a satisfying pop announced that Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade had succeeded where John Watson and Mike Stamford had not and glasses were generously filled, all except one, which remained empty on the table in a sort of salute to its absent owner.

Sherlock's breath misted the air as he exhaled a soft sigh. The light and warmth that exuded from the building was drawing him in but he had to resist. Inside, John accepted a toast from Mike Stamford and drew his fiancée closer. A shiver ran through Sherlock that had nothing to do with the cold and an ache settled that was entirely separate from hunger. John had done as he had wanted and moved on yet he hadn't been able to help but half hope that John would still be mourning because seeing the engagement party made Sherlock feel like he had finally been forgotten.

He couldn't stand loneliness.

A soft smile was exchanged between John and Mary Morstan and Sherlock could bare it no longer. Immediately a hand, soft and gentle, came to rest upon his shoulder and he turned into the offered embrace and comfort, clinging to the figure and to the human contact he had denied himself for so long. Shaking that was a mixture of cold and sorrow swept the detective's thin frame.

"Is that him?" The person to whom Sherlock had so desperately latched onto was glancing over his shoulder, gazing where he had been not a minute ago.

"Yes," Sherlock's voice was rough and unused, it shook with emotion. Another glance through the window was all that his comforter needed. Slowly, carefully Sherlock's companion drew him away from the merry gathering, both of them missing the beginning of a solemn speech.

"We couldn't stay."

"I know. I just had to see…"

"I understand." A hand on his back gently guided him towards their temporary lodging. Shivering as night closed in further Sherlock wrapped the shabby coat more firmly around him, thin clothes unable to protect him from the chill, leaning back into the touch for warmth and strength. He was well aware that they had a rough night ahead of them.

But after tonight, if they were successful, three years' worth of struggle and hardship, living in the shadows and fighting to survive would finally be finished.

* * *

John's flat was spacious enough for a gathering this size, the night was closing in and everyone had arrived. The obligatory speeches and embarrassing anecdotes were out of the way. Although they were there to celebrate the occupants of the room were becoming increasingly aware of the empty wine glass that graced the table. A clink of glass on glass drew everyone's attention to the newly engaged Watson. This was what they had been waiting for.

"I'd like to make a toast." John declared and the silence around the room became that bit quieter and respectful. A deep breath and a moment later John began to speak.

"I'd like to make a toast to Sherlock Holmes," gazes flitted to the empty glass, "who, sadly, is no longer with us. I know he'd probably be insulting everyone here and refusing to drink the wine, or make a toast but without him I wouldn't be here. Sherlock…" a pause, a swallow,

"Sherlock was my closest friend and accepted me unconditionally, he saw my flaws and he saw my strengths. Sherlock made me whole again and for that, I can never thank him enough. It is my solemnest wish that he be remembered tonight not as the media would like him to be, but as a friend to each of us in his own way and as the catalyst that led us all to realise the greatness within ourselves, even when he couldn't see the same in himself.

"To Sherlock Holmes, the most human man I ever met and the best friend I have ever known."

"To Sherlock Holmes," the gathering toasted, glasses raised. A long moments silence fell as everyone reflected on John's words before a gentle conservational hum started up again. In the corner, Mrs Hudson was carefully drying her eyes. No one commented on Mycroft's sudden need for fresh air.

"That was beautiful John." Lestrade came to stand by him, surveying the room. John smiled weakly.

"He would have hated it, you know that Greg."

"Absolutely," Lestrade agreed. Comfortable silence settled.

"Will you be my best man?" Lestrade turned in surprised, Sherlock's absence suddenly all the more painful. Sherlock would have been the best man.

"Of course, I'd be honoured."

The party continued into the night as frost gathered on the lawn.

* * *

An anonymous call led Scotland Yard to arrest Colonel Moran for blackmail and murder. A bullet was embedded in the wall, a spray of red surrounding it. The victim was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Author's Note: The title is taken from Robert Frost's beautiful poem. The lines, Two roads diverged in a yellow road / And sorry I could not travel both, made me think of the diverging lives of Sherlock and John following the fall which in a roundabout sort of way led me to this. People change, and three years apart would not be forgotten easily, so I wanted to explore the effects the reunion would have on them both because their lives have changed so much in each others absence.

The Great Gatsby jumps out at me 'So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.'

Because no matter how hard you try, you can never regain the past.


	2. Save My Soul

The Road Not Taken

Save My Soul - Eisley

Rising from the ashes /

Will you save my soul? /

You won't bury me /

You're the part that makes me whole.

* * *

Sherlock watched in an avid fascination as the thread was pulled through the final stitch in his shoulder. He had never been squeamish and his line of work only furthered his natural curiosity but it was rare that he got to see himself being pieced back together like a jigsaw. It was all that his self-appointed carer had done since they had met. Sherlock had been lost, his once black and white world or morals thrown into shades of grey, he had been broken in more than just physical measures.

"There, all finished." Lifting his gaze to his companion of nearly two years after a chance meeting on a Hamburg ferry, he to find his next target, they to visit the theatre, Sherlock reflected on how strange it was that of all people to help him it had been her.

"Thank you Kate." Slowly she moved away, clearing away the first aid kit that Sherlock had pinched from the back of someone's car as he had stumbled back to the alley where they had set up camp, courtesy of the homeless network. Kate cleaned away faster than normal, it was Sunday, she would head out soon to try and find the nearest church. Sherlock no longer knew where he stood on that either, he had been forced to come to terms with his own mortality more times in the last three years than in the rest of his lifetime, he no longer knew what he believed about life after death.

"All finished." Kate repeated, only this time a slight smile was gracing her worn features, spending her time with him had aged her. Sherlock knew she wasn't talking about the stitches.

"It's strange." He said after a long moment, still unused to expressing his feelings.

"In what way?" Sophie asked sitting opposite him, other plans disregarded her focus entirely on the man she had sworn to protect.

"I thought it would feel different, better, now that it's finished." Sherlock admitted, clasping his hands together, his only outward sign of anxiety.

"How does it feel?" Sherlock forced a weak smile, it was alarming how well Kate knew his moods, and she had never asked the wrong question.

"Empty." Bottomless, painful, emptiness.

"Because you feel you no longer have a purpose?"

"Partly," Sherlock paused here, knowing that the next words would only hurt, "partly because the only stable things in my world are no longer there."

"Those you were fighting for."

"Yes."

Comfortable silence settled around them as both mused on the words that now hung between them.

"You're scared they will reject you." Kate broke the moment, once again accurate as John's aim.

"They've moved on."

"There was an empty glass at the table Sherlock. We both know why." Sherlock dropped his head, Kate lifted it again, her hand gently cupping his face, and Sherlock's eyes swam with unshed tears. Only Kate got to see this side of him now.

"What do I do?" Desperation was clear in his tone, his pleading gaze begged for an answer. Kate reached over, took one of his hands in hers, squeezed.

"Come with me."

* * *

Lestrade had a slight hangover from John's engagement party, which his nursed as he read over the notes from Colonel Moran's capture and arrest. Turning his gaze to the stack of papers of his desk Lestrade sighed. For close to three years this had been happening, no fingerprints, no trace.

Scotland Yard's phantom little helper.

Despite some people's opinions Gregory Lestrade had reached his rank because he was smart and he saw things that others missed. Never to the extent of… Sherlock… but still, whilst others had their theories Lestrade saw the patterns. The closed cases were all linked by one thing, James Moriarty, who following Sherlock's… suicide… was proven to be a criminal linked to the deaths of Carl Powers, all of Sherlock's five pip cases, even the kidnapping of those children in the chocolate factory.

Someone had been hunting Moriarty's web, and they had been one step ahead of Mycroft and Lestrade every step of the way.

A knock on his office door interrupted his musings.

"Yes?" Wearily his raised his head, and abruptly found himself thrust into alertness when he found himself faced with an ashen-faced and shaking Sergeant Donovan.

"You need to see this sir."

Stood in the middle of the large room Lestrade strode into was a sight that made his legs go weak with shock and relief.

Forcefully gripping the hand of a shorter, brown-haired woman was a dead man with a mop of raven curls that had grown longer than Lestrade remembered. Blue-grey eyes, once so startling, looked lost as they fell upon his face and just as suddenly the strength seemed to go out of the ghost.

Trembling, Lestrade walked towards him, understandingly the woman, who he knew he would have to interrogate thoroughly later, back away, releasing her hand from the man's deathly grasp.

In the middle of the room, surrounded by surprised and frightened faces, Lestrade, torn between anger and joy, pulled Sherlock Holmes into a tight embrace. Although Sherlock flinched away from the unexpected contact, maybe he had expected to be punched, Sherlock quickly melted into the inspector's arms, gripping him back with renewed strength.

They clung to each other as though nothing else mattered.

Everything in Lestrade's world was immediately made complete. Everything except one.

"John." He gasped out into the dark wool of Sherlock's coat. He felt the other man tense.

"Please," Sherlock muttered pleadingly, "not now."

And Lestrade understood that no matter what Sherlock had gone through, his journey was far from complete.

* * *

Author's Note: I'm sort of flitting between this story and rewriting Putting Out The Flames, so I'm afraid updates might be a sparodic as the plot bunnies!

Also, if you've never heard of Eisley, go look them up, they're an alrmingly underrated band and no one seems to know they exist which makes me sad.


	3. Apologise

Apologize – Timbaland

I'd take another chance /

Take a fall take a shot for you /

Didn't think I'd turn around and say /

It's too late to apologize.

* * *

John was wedding shopping with Mycroft because he didn't know anyone better to choose a good suit. It was about his limit on wedding planning business, as much as he liked the idea of marrying Mary he didn't so much appreciated the huge about of planning that went into the event.

It was as he admired Mycroft's latest choice in the mirror that he heard the gasp of surprise and the thump of the body hitting the wall, in the reflection he could see Mycroft's white face and expression of shock and he slid down until he was sat on the floor. John was immediately on guard, anything that could scare Mycroft had to be really bad. With one hand reaching for his gun, which of course, nobody actually knew about if anyone asked, and jumped out, aiming directly between the eyes of an equally startled Sherlock Holmes.

Black curls waving around as he instinctively jerked his head back, striking blue-grey eyes wide, scarf ruffled by the sudden movement, and at a first glance not changed at all. For some reason, John's first reaction was anger, not at seeing Sherlock alive, but at seeing him supposedly unchanged when John had gone through the worst time of his life in the days following the 'incident' as he had termed it.

"John?" Sherlock's tentative voice broke through John's red haze and he realised suddenly that the gun was still pointed at Sherlock's face.

"What?" John's terse reply clearly unsettled his old flat mate further.

"Could you possibly put the gun down please?" John wasn't sure what startled him more, the genuine look of fear in Sherlock's eyes or the fact that he had actually said please.

As Sherlock hadn't moved since John's abrupt appearance the sudden rustle of cloth behind him had John's military focus change target and down the sight he found himself face to face with an equally surprised brown-haired women wrapped in a double-breasted coat and a beanie hat. Green eyes as startling as Sherlock's swam in front of him. Slowly, he watched as Sherlock's arm came across her body and pushed her back behind him.

"Kate, please."

"But this was my idea."

"Kate!" Sherlock's voice turned sharper, warning, "You promised to do what I said in situations like this." Not once did Sherlock break eye contact with the ex-solider.

"Lock?" Mycroft was the one to break the terse situation. Pulling himself to his feet, the elder Holmes brother seemed to have regained his wits and in one smooth movement that John vaguely recognised as a form of martial art, removed the gun from John's hands, which then fell limply to his sides.

Mycroft contemplated the weapon in his hand. John, now feeling much like an outsider, shock his mind informed him, watched as Sherlock's fear increased and he physically took a step back, pushing Kate more firmly behind him. Mycroft also saw the movement and realised that his own brother was scared of him, returned his gaze to the gun with a look of disgust, he flicked the safety on and threw the weapon away. Sherlock visibly relaxed.

With a noise halfway between a sob and a whimper Mycroft, showing more athleticism than he had in a long time, darted forwards and embrace his younger sibling, burying his head into the startled younger man's shoulder.

For a moment John thought Sherlock was experiencing a flashback. He had frozen, his gaze distant, face frightened.

"Sherlock." Kate's tone was sharp and sudden, jerking Sherlock out of his trance and he hesitantly encircled his own arms about his brother's waist.

"You've lost weight." Sherlock murmured in concern, Mycroft snorted humourlessly into Sherlock's hair.

"So have you."

Over his brother's shoulder Sherlock gaze was now fixed on John. Being under Sherlock's scrutinising gaze was too much. John couldn't deal with his deductions, not now, not after what Sherlock had done to him. It felt like he had been in a daze since Mycroft's interruption had thrown him off balance, now his anger came flooding back. He had to get out.

Moving quickly forwards he brushed past the reunited brothers, making sure to hit Sherlock's shoulder hard. His fury blinded him so much that he missed Sherlock's abrupt gasp of breath, missed seeing his face crease in pain and the quietly spoken exclamation of his name as, despite the renewed agony Sherlock's shoulder was giving him, his hand reached out to try and catch John's coat.

Yanking his sleeve out of Sherlock's grip, John hurried out of the shop, missing Mycroft and Kate lunging to catch the ailing detective as the abrupt action ripped the stitches Kate had so carefully put in the night before.

"John, please, I'm sorry let me explain…" John didn't want Sherlock's explanations, he needed time to think, to come with to terms with the resurrection of the man that was once his best friend.

"Sometimes, Sherlock, it's too late to apologise."

Sherlock's broken voice haunted him the entire walk home.

* * *

"Mike?" Sherlock sat in Mycroft's office at the Diogenes club, gripping his sibling's hand in a bone breaking grip as Kate tried to repair the damage done to his shoulder. Mycroft gripped back as though he fear his brother would disappear.

"Yes Lock?"

"Will everything be alright?" Mycroft felt like a teenager again, comforting his child brother with false reassurances. How could everything be alright? His brother was back, but he had lost a part of himself.

"Of course Sherlock, everything will be alright in the end." But the path would be long.

* * *

A/N: Ok, so in my mind, Mycroft knows nothing about Sherlock's survival and worldwide destruction of Moriarty's network. I always thought it would be interesting to see his reaction. Also, I'm now addicted to this plot bunny. Whoopie.


	4. Underdog

Underdog – Imagine Dragons

Hey, that sounds like my luck /

I get the short end of it /

Early evening hush me over /

Living the low life

* * *

Sherlock lay slumped on the sofa staring at the wall of 221B Baker Street, alone. The spray painted face stared back at him, mocking his mood with its cheerful smile. The flat felt empty without John. He couldn't even fill it with music because John, no, he shouldn't blame John, because his shoulder flared in pain if he tried to manipulate the strings or even hold his precious violin in place, in the end he had been forced to give in to the silence.

Kate had left to go to church, Mycroft had left to go back to work after fussing over Sherlock for an unnecessary amount of time. Now Sherlock wished he had never insisted they go because being alone with his thoughts was the last thing he needed.

He had been right. It did feel empty. Although it felt empty for all the wrong reasons, because John's reaction meant that the three years of pain and torment to protect a man he thought was his closest friend hadn't been worth it. What use were friends when all they did was desert him?

For a long moment Sherlock's eyes lingered on the chimney. There was a loose brick there, no one would know if he only took a little…right?

For a couple of hours Sherlock felt happier than he had in a long time. Then reality came crashing back down when Kate, instead of returning to the house Mycroft had given her, decided to look in on him instead. What she found made her wish she had never left.

* * *

Mary had been surprisingly good at listening to John's rant about how much he hated Sherlock Holmes and had taken the news of his return with very little fuss. Comforted by her embrace the pair sat on the sofa in silence. John having run out of steam had instead finally let the news sink in. Sherlock was alive. And before he knew what was happening he was crying, relief and sorrow mixed in equal measures because he both wanted to see Sherlock and also never wanted to see him again.

"Why was he away for so long?" Mary finally broke the silence that had fallen.

"Hmm?" John mumbled against her shoulder.

"Sherlock, he must have faked his death for a reason but why so long? I mean, did he seem different to you?" John paused, for the first time really thinking, deducing, the Sherlock he had left behind in the wedding shop.

At first, John couldn't discern any differences. The man had lost a little weight, but that was to be expected when John wasn't around to tell him to eat. But, now that he thought about it there had been something different about him. Sherlock had always had the appearance of being on guard but in the shop, it hadn't been an appearance, his muscles had been tense, his focus absolute and he had looked down the barrel of a gun without fear. No, that wasn't it, without emotion. The way a soldier was trained to.

Focusing his attention of the details, as Sherlock would, John also remembered Sherlock having some new scars, one near his hairline, another small one on the side of his throat. He had been paler, sweating, which was also unusual. He had protected the girl, Kate, as though he had done so countless times before in countless similar situations.

Conclusion? Sherlock had, in a sense, been in a war and he had come back a changed man, just as John had done five years ago.

"I suppose so. I mean, he was edgy."

"That's to be expected. He was about to reveal a massive deception to his best friend."

"Sherlock doesn't have friends." John's reply was automatic, he missed the widening of Mary's eyes.

"Not even you?"

"He made it quite clear that he preferred to be alone." John retorted, turning away and firmly indicating that the conversation was over.

Mary was concerned. What was clear to her clearly wasn't to her fiancée. She wouldn't deny that he had every right to be angry at Sherlock but to deny friendship with him? From his description of events Sherlock didn't sound like he wanted to be alone, Kate had apparently been with him for some time. He willingly hugged Mycroft and he had reached out to John in the hopes of rekindling their friendship, something John had apparently disregarded.

Not that she blamed him, but by the sounds of things John hadn't let Sherlock explain anything. Mary had little doubt that Sherlock had his reasons for faking his death. All she needed to do was get the two to talk to each other before they destroyed themselves because she had a hunch that John's rejection would have far worse an impact on Sherlock than John expected.

* * *

If Kate had been able to hear Mary's thoughts she would have agreed. She hadn't pictured spending her evening with a Sherlock Holmes who was high as a kite, nor holding him as he shivered and tried his best not to throw up again when withdrawal set in. Gently pushing raven curls away from his forehead, pressing a calming kiss to his head Kate did her best to comfort a man torn apart by guilt and despair.

"It meant nothing to him Kate." Sherlock whimpered beside her, tears forming in his eyes, "Nothing." He turned his helpless gaze to her.

"So you turned to drugs?" Her voice was soft, unthreatening, spoken without judging.

"I didn't want to feel sad and alone anymore." Sherlock quietly admitted, "I know it was the wrong thing to do."

"Will you do it again?" A hesitation.

"I don't know. I just don't know." Kate accepted this with a nod and moved to help Sherlock up.

"We'll make John see sense Sherlock. He just needs time to let it sink in, he didn't let you explain, so he doesn't understand the enormity of what you've done for him." Beside her Sherlock sleepily nodded, "Bedtime for you I think."

"I'm not a child." Sherlock protested weakly but let himself be dragged to his room, submitted to her help in changing when his hand shook too much and lay quietly whilst she tucked him into his own bed for the first time in three years.

"I hope you have a good night." Kate said softly as she moved away. In a moment of vulnerability Sherlock reached out to her.

"Stay. Please."

At least this time when the nightmares came Sherlock didn't have to deal with them alone. But they both knew he would rather an ex-army doctor were watching over him.

* * *

A/N. Well... that was heavy. But don't worry, there shall be fluffiness before the end.


End file.
